


Idle Hands and Lonely Hearts

by sandy_s



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, West Texas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 13:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18757066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandy_s/pseuds/sandy_s
Summary: Buffy and Spike set out to help Oz. Set post-series.This chapter was written for the special round robin on Elysian Fields called Exquisite Corpse. Each author receives the one paragraph of the previous chapter and has to create a chapter based on that paragraph. The first paragraph of this story was written by relurker. However, my chapter was accidentally shortened when an earlier paragraph was sent to the next author, so I'm posting the entire chapter as intended here, so readers from EF can see the whole thing! It is a story that can stand alone.Disclaimer: I own nothing. Joss owns all.





	Idle Hands and Lonely Hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Relurker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Relurker/gifts), [yellowb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowb/gifts).



> Special thank you to yellowb for organizing the EC for a third time and for betaing my chapter and telling me to cut out the superfluous! Thank you to relurker for her lovely starting paragraph and extra big thank you to badwolfjedi for her beautiful mood board!

  


Buffy looked at them steadily, until they had to look away, and Willow’s ears became pink. “Willow. Guys. This isn’t what we do. We don’t kill our own people because they’ve killed. What we do is, we find a way to fix what’s broken. I’ll figure something out. Let’s go, now, I want him safe and chained in the basement before sunrise.” 

“I agree with Buffy. We need to face what’s out there together,” Spike piped up from where he lounged against the wall – the way he usually did when he was backing Buffy and being thoughtful about everything that was said. “And you lot didn’t kill me when I turned all those girls under the influence of the First. We can’t kill the wolf. You know he’s going to need us, particularly you, Red.”

Willow’s eyes filled with tears. “I know. But I don’t know how he’s going to live with himself. He might want to die when he finds out what he’s done. He might want us to kill him.”

Buffy slid her arm through Willow’s in a comforting gesture. “We’ve all wanted to die at one time or another. We’ll bring him back.”

“It’s true,” Xander said from where he was slouching in a nearby chair and cradling his wounded arm. His eye patch had been lost in the earlier fight, and his scarred eye gleamed waxy in the low light. “We have. And we will.”

Liquid slid down Willow’s cheek in a rush. She extricated herself from Buffy’s arm, and she touched Xander’s shoulder. She sniffed. “I—I have to stay and work on casting the spell to prevent Xander’s bite from turning him into a werewolf, but I also know that if anyone can get through to Oz in the state he’s in, it’s me.” She paled, and her hand went to her stomach. “Oh, goddess. I don’t know what to do.”

“That’s why we’re here. To help each other.” Buffy sounded more confident than she felt.

She bent to rummage around in the weapons bag she and Spike had packed before their journey to this little farming town in middle-of-nowhere West Texas. She produced a tranquilizer gun and some chains and passed Spike an ax, which he hefted. She studied his face. His sharp cheekbones were shadowed, and his eyes were a dark blue, hiding how he really felt from her. It was strange, having him back in her life after all this time, and they were still figuring out where they fit in each other’s lives. He still hadn’t made a move, but he’d been firmly fighting by her side for the last six months as they traipsed around the world, rounding up more Slayers and dealing with demonic fires that kept popping up since the fall of Sunnydale. Maybe she and Spike were too busy for move making, but she often felt his eyes on her when he thought she wasn’t looking or noticing. He offered her a close-lipped smile now, and she nodded. 

Shoving aside any hope for rekindled romance with the emergency at hand, Buffy swallowed and continued to try to convince Willow that all would be okay. “Spike and I are going to find Oz and bring him home. Well, here.” Which was far from home. They weren’t in Kansas anymore and hadn’t been for a long time. Only this world didn’t have a yellow brick road. “And we’re going to kill the demon behind this whole deal.”

“What about all the other werewolves that she’s rallied to do her bidding out there?” Xander asked. “We can’t chain everyone in the basement. It’s kind of small.”

Before she died from her wounds, the Lubbock Slayer, whose main turf was an hour away from this small town, had managed to tell them that the demon had used a spell to draw werewolves and then force them to transform and slaughter the town members and each other. There was no word on the demon’s motive, but Spike postulated that it was likely nothing more than the run of the mill mayhem and slaughter, power and control. Sounded right to Buffy.

Buffy frowned. “It’s not a full moon, right? So the hope is that they all turn human again when the spell is broken.” The Lubbock Slayer had also said the werewolves had still been all with the fur and fangs while the sun was high in the sky. “We’ll have chains ready just in case.”

“At least chains for Oz and a few others.” Willow looked up from where she was studying Xander’s wounds and raised both eyebrows at Buffy. “Maybe I should go. I am the spell expert here.”

“No,” Buffy insisted. “You need to help Xander. What if he goes all wolf-y and runs off to participate in the slaughter?”

Xander leaned forward in his chair and shook his head. “We don’t even know if the prevention spell will work. It might be more helpful for Wil to go with you guys to try to unravel the spell at the source.”

“But you’ll still be a werewolf even if we do stop the demon.” Willow wrung her hands, looking younger and more vulnerable than she usually did. “I can’t lose you, too,” she whispered, and Buffy wasn’t exactly sure what she meant by that.

Xander shrugged a shoulder – the corner of his mouth lifting. “I’ll finally be like everyone else around here. At least we’ll know what to do around the full moon. And Oz will teach me what to do.” 

Willow made a face at him. “We love you how you are.” Donning her resolve face, she picked up his hand even though he winced a little at the pain. “I’m staying.” She addressed Buffy and Spike. “Find Oz for me.”

“We’ll find him,” Buffy promised, handing Willow the chains. 

After bounding down the stairs, Spike pulled open the door and a gust of air pushed its way into the small abandoned house, almost knocking him off his feet. “What the bloody hell?” He slammed the door shut. 

“A dust storm?” Buffy asked as she descended the last few stairs, noting the red dust settling on the floor. “Just what we needed to make everything easier.” 

“Looks like. More magic?” 

Buffy frowned, vaguely wondering if her Kansas notion wasn’t far off. “No idea.” 

Spike set his jaw and glanced back at Buffy. “Ready to move through it?”

She drew up alongside him and steeled her muscles for nature’s push back. She was ready to move through anything with him. “Of course.” 

* * *

Buffy and Spike plowed through the driving winds and flying dirt for about twenty minutes before Buffy couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t breathe through her nose and could hardly open her eyes. Sand granules were gritty in her teeth, and her skin felt like it was being abraded. The streetlights at the edge of the country town were blotted out by the storm, and everything around them was pitch black. She was letting Spike lead; he felt the pull of the demon’s spell and could tell what direction to go. 

Buffy opened her mouth to tell Spike that she couldn’t go on, but between the wind and dirt, she began coughing instead. Great. She couldn’t even be a Slayer in this type of environment. How was she supposed to stop a demon, end a spell controlling werewolves, and rescue Oz? 

She felt Spike grip her hand as he stumbled into her, and she was grateful that neither of them had gotten hit by any sharp weapons or flying debris. 

Instead of saying anything, Spike tugged her along, and she squinted against the darkness to see a glimmer of light – a tiny pinprick that illuminated the outline of a vehicle. He jerked the door open, and they scrambled inside. The key was in the ignition, and an old sounding song was playing over the car’s speakers.

Spike closed the door, and suddenly the wind was only howling around the outside of the truck as Buffy gasped for air and managed to prop the weapons and tranquilizer gun around them.

“You okay, love?” 

Spike didn’t seem to call her that anymore – only once in a while, and Buffy clung to the nickname. Her heart pounding in her chest with annoying, reluctant hope, she crossed her metaphorical fingers that Spike believed she was only winded. “I-I’m okay. What is that?”

“What? The dust storm or the music?” He picked up a cd case from the cup holder and turned down the volume on the music. “Buddy Holly. Fitting.”

“The dust storm. I’ve been in strong winds before but – ” 

“Nothing combined with wind and dirt?”

“Yeah.” 

“Never been in one before either. Inclined to think it’s nature and not magic.” Spike’s eyes roved over her, obviously making sure she was okay but not touching her, not thinking she was beautiful because she wouldn’t be. . . not in this.

Buffy blushed and self-consciously touched her long braids, discovering that wispy strands had come loose from them. Great. She was grateful that the interior truck light was dim. She slumped back against the seat and sighed. “How are we supposed to accomplish anything? God, this sucks. It’s too much.” She gestured outside. “Even if we did find a werewolf, how would we know it’s Oz? We only have so many tranquilizer cartridges. I can use my Slayer sense to aim but who knows what this wind would do to my aim.” 

“Dunno. We might have to wait it out until the sun rises and hope that it provides some light. Once you can see, I’m betting you’ll be able to adjust for the wind.” 

“You have a lot more faith in my aim than I do.” Buffy inanely thought of Giles’s practice exercise when he’d blindfolded her and asked her to hit him with a ball. Maybe she could do it? Her instincts were sharper now, but rescuing someone they all loved and cared about held more weight than any exercise. “And what will you do when the sun rises?”

Spike ignored her question. “I always believe in you, Buffy. Thought you knew that.” He sounded a little hurt.

She couldn’t look at him and studied her hands, which had fallen in her lap. “I know.” She peeked at him, and he was still watching her. “Same goes for you.”

He chuckled softly. “I know.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, the winds became less forceful on the shell of their shelter, and the streetlight above them became visibly brighter. 

Buffy huffed. “Of course. As soon as we find shelter, it stops.” 

They waited a few more minutes and then a howl echoed in the distance – a howl that was distinctly not the wind. Buffy and Spike glanced at one another.

“Thought after that storm, we’d be in Oz. The magical land. Not the werewolf.” She sighed. “Guess not.” She should have known since she wasn’t wearing gingham or ruby slippers. Still. She was so far out of her element in Texas, in a small town, in a dust storm, with Spike. 

The corner of Spike’s mouth lifted, and the way he looked at her made her think that maybe there was something there. “You still glow. Despite the bit of dirt.” He picked up the ax. “Ready?”

“I could use some water to rinse out the sand in my teeth.” She slung the bag with tranquilizer cartridges over her head and picked up the gun and her weapon. “But ready as I’ll ever be.” 

Spike’s lips moved together slightly, and he looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead of speaking, he eased open the truck door. 

Buffy copied him, trying to be quiet in the sudden silence. As they found their way back onto the road that led to the small downtown of the farming town, the sound of insects buzzed to life, but there were no further wolf cries. There were bodies slumped in the streets and over vehicles as they made their way past the dry cleaners and the feed store. Flies hummed lightly in Buffy’s ear when she got too close to one of the dead humans, and she tried not to look too closely at the victim’s chest and abdomen. She killed demons and saw some of them as people like Clem, but seeing gutted humans was another thing altogether. She didn’t know what that meant about her, but she supposed it came with being the Slayer whose job was to kill vampires and demons. 

At the moment, there were no signs of werewolves or their demon puppet master. 

Spike paused in front of the corner grocery store – a display of vegetables turned over. Potatoes, onions, and tomatoes were smashed and scattered over the concrete in a haphazard fan. In the dim light, Buffy saw his nostrils flare. She kept her Slayer senses alert but detected no movement or sounds around them. The town had been overrun – its inhabitants slaughtered and abandoned. 

“Whole place smells of wolf,” Spike whispered almost too low for Buffy to hear. Even Buffy could smell it; the musky scent was strong. 

“But none to be found.” Buffy glanced back. Nothing. She shivered in the cool air. The day had been hot – over a hundred degrees and dry heat. Now, it was cold. She wished she had brought a jacket. She should have known West Texas would be a little like Sunnydale since they were close to the desert; she’d definitely seen a tumbleweed. 

“There’s magic up ahead.” Spike nodded the direction of what looked like a small courthouse with more lights on inside than the other buildings. “That’s where we’ll find the demon controlling this mess.”

“Got it.” The small size of the downtown reminded Buffy of Sunnydale’s State Street, but then again, all there was of this town was the one street. So small. She wondered why the demon would pick here to be. 

Spike and Buffy made their way cautiously toward the townhall. As they approached the base of the small staircase up to the front doors, shadowy figures stirred in the darkness, and warning growls stirred to life in unison. Wind blew over Buffy’s bare arms, and goosebumps flew along her flesh. She was grateful that she’d preloaded a tranquilizer dose before they got this far.

“Weapon or tranquilizer? That is the question,” she threw out as casually as she would have entering a vamp nest. 

Spike gripped the handle of the ax. “I’m thinking weapon, love.”

“But they’re people,” she protested. 

As soon as she finished her sentence, a furry body flew across the landing right for Spike. She flung the tranquilizer gun’s strap over her shoulder so that it landed solidly against her back as she brought up the scythe. She winced as she sliced at the werewolf’s torso, embedding the metal deep but hopefully not too deep. The wolf whined and slipped to the ground. 

“I hate this,” Buffy said as she caught a glimpse of another werewolf darting forward with claws raised.

“Appreciate the save though, pet,” Spike noted in all seriousness as three more forms hurtled at him. He hacked at one with the ax, pulled the metal free, and whirled to strike another, his leather coat fanning out behind him. 

Buffy almost stopped to watch him move – the rough and tumble but somehow elegant way he approached fights. That piece of him hadn’t changed. But she couldn’t pause because there were more werewolves than she could count. She kicked and punched and ducked, dodging and feinting blows and somehow managing to avoid sharp pointy claws. She tried hard to aim her weapon at limbs and not midsections, hoping to give them a fighting chance of survival once the spell was reversed. If it was reversed.

A large one charged her as she was tugging her scythe out of another’s calf, and before she could avoid the hit, she was flying through the air and not of her own volition. Her body crashed into the brick of the courthouse, and she grunted in pain as the rough texture slid up her shirt and burned her skin. She bounced back to her feet only to be slammed back against the wall before she could pick up her fallen weapon. The tranquilizer gun was immovable metal on her back. Somehow, she managed to get her arms up in time to prevent the wolf from sinking his teeth into her neck. A furry knee pinned her body in place, and she strained her muscles, holding the salivating creature back. 

Just as sharp teeth skimmed over the flesh of her neck, the pressure was suddenly gone, and Buffy fell to the ground.

Spike snapped the werewolf’s neck with a crunch and threw the lifeless body aside. Then, he pivoted and punched the next wolf that was charging him, making hard contact on the wolf’s cheek. 

Buffy’s eyes grew round as she watched the dead werewolf transform back into human form. She let out a breath of relief as she saw that the man was decidedly not Oz. Her fingers then felt her neck. She couldn’t tell if the liquid there was blood or saliva. 

Shaking, she scooped up her scythe, tripping the next wolf coming her way, and whacking it with the butt of the handle, unwilling to risk killing another. The wolf whined as he slipped into unconsciousness. 

She spun to find Spike rendering the final wolf unconscious. 

His face was swathed in darkness as he pivoted to face her. “Looks like that was the last of them. At least out here.”

“No Oz. Right?” 

“Know his scent. He’s not here.”

“I hope that’s good news.” Buffy reached up and felt her neck again. Still wet, and her human nose couldn’t parse out the smell of her own blood from others’. 

She must have looked panicked because Spike strode forward and touched her. His cool thumb swept over her skin to check for injuries, sending a spiral of tingles over her body. She wondered if he noticed the effect he had on her even in the middle of a fight. She really hoped it wasn’t enough to draw more werewolves. “Not blood. Not a bite.”

“Thank you.” Her shoulders relaxed in relief, and she suddenly thought of the tranquilizers in the bag still balancing against her hip. She passed Spike her scythe, and peeled open the flap. Her shaking fingers found the glass vials. No dampness there. Thank god. “We have to find him. For Willow.” 

Buffy was worried about her friend. Willow hadn’t dated anyone seriously since Tara had died and Sunnydale was a crater. Kennedy didn’t count. Willow kept blowing the dating thing off, saying she was too busy to put herself out there. Not that any of them had long-lasting relationships, but Xander had a new Slayer girlfriend and Buffy had Spike – sort of. Maybe.

“Pet,” Spike said with such preternatural intensity that Buffy froze.

“What?” 

Spike gave the barest of nods, and she realized that he was staring over her shoulder.

Holding her breath, Buffy slowly turned to see what Spike saw. 

It was Oz. 

She’d recognize his smaller wolf-y form anywhere; despite the wolf being to the forefront, there was something about the way he carried himself and quizzically cocked his head that made her think of her affable friend. Her heart skipped a beat, and as she held the wolf’s gaze, she lowered the hopefully unbroken tranquilizer gun so that the barrel was aimed at him.

Before she could pull the trigger, Oz’s wolf form melted away, leaving a very naked human standing before them. His hair was red – undyed, and even with the almost nonexistent light, Buffy could see the sorrow and desperation in his eyes. Willow was right. He wanted her to kill him; she knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt. He’d killed and killed people he cared about, and now he wanted to die. 

Buffy lowered the gun and swallowed past the lump in her throat. She kept her gaze locked with his, willing him to not give up. “Oz. We’re here to help.”

Oz’s face contorted as if he was trying to fight some unseen force – wolf or demonic spell. He squinted his eyes, and his next words came out stilted and flat. “You have to come with me. She sent me to retrieve you.”

“She?” Buffy asked, trying to keep him going and hoping he could find a space to push past whatever had a hold on him.

“S-she.” He turned his head to one side and gagged. The words that were his tumbled out in a rush. “W-willow? She. . . the other. It’s not what you think it – ” He clutched at his throat, and Buffy took three steps toward him, only Spike’s hand on her arm holding her back. The robotic tone was back. “She wants you. Now.” The last syllable trailed off into a growl, and human Oz slipped away, giving way to fur and fangs. His form hunched as he loped back the way he’d come. 

Buffy glanced back at Spike only briefly, catching his eye and setting a plan. The plan was simple. 

Wing it.

Oz dropped off the end of the veranda, and Buffy followed, jumping down the elevated porch with ease and catching a glimpse of Oz slipping into a side door. 

Spike passed her scythe to her in the doorway, and they trailed after Oz, who was whining and growling – the sound echoing in the long eerily empty corridor that twisted and turned. The ceilings were tall, the walls a cream with signs of age, and there was a dirty green carpet that paved their way to the belly of whatever demon was causing all of this. 

After several seconds of silence, Spike pulled up close behind her; she felt his body close to hers but tried to block out her body’s reaction to him. “More wolves here.”

“Not just leftover scent from the ones who attacked us outside?” Buffy whispered.

“No. Too strong for that.” 

“Great.” More werewolves to try and not kill. “At least it’s well lit.”

“You have a point.” A heartbeat passed. “If anyone can handle more, it’s you.” There he went again being encouraging. That’s all he seemed to do. 

Buffy resisted the urge to infuse her words with sarcasm and managed a genuine, “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

She found herself somehow at an elevator and exchanged a glance with Spike before following Oz aboard. The subsequent elevator ride was eerie and silent with Oz staring forward, and Spike headily close to her. The elevator slowed and dinged – the sound a little off key. As the doors slid apart with excruciating slowness, Buffy’s eyes widened at the large open room before them. 

The brightly lit courtroom was empty of chairs but was filled with werewolves – more than they’d fought outside. At the judge’s bench presiding over them all was a slight female demon with a mix of human and pinky-red reptilian skin. Her long tail flicked behind her, and her eyes glowed golden. She was twirling a wooden gavel in one clawed hand, and she grinned at them. 

“Didn’t expect y’all to make it this far,” she called to them, her voice confident over the strangely silent wolves. “Kinda curious who you are. If you make it through this next part, I’ll introduce myself.” She waved the gavel at the wolves, and tendrils of light blue magic spread over their heads and settled down on each one’s forehead.

Growls suddenly filled the room that had so recently been quiet. Oz shoved past them and disappeared to the right as the group advanced. 

Spike glanced down at her. “Ready, pet?”

She nodded, gripping her weapon. “Ready.” 

The fight this time around went a lot more smoothly despite the greater number of werewolves. Buffy thought that maybe the well-lit courtroom made a difference. But that was too easy. Maybe it was also the difference with Spike. He was showing her in the little moments leading up to this fight that he was really there with her. . . there with her in the way he used to be but hadn’t quite been since he returned to her.

She almost laughed with joy, but that would be inappropriate and wrong, so she remained focused on the mission. There was no singing and dancing here. 

Still, whatever the reason for this shift, Buffy and Spike’s movements flowed like they were the principal dancers in a well-choreographed dance of death. 

Only they weren’t killing anyone. . . just knocking a bunch of humans who happened to be in wolf-y-creature-mode unconscious. When Spike stumbled, Buffy was there to kick a wolf in the jaw and send him flying. When Buffy ducked in response to Spike’s command, his weapon sailed end-over-end across the room so that the handle slammed between a pair of glowing eyes. When they were surrounded by four werewolves all attacking at once, they were back-to-back, them-against-the-world, responding to minute changes in each other. 

Buffy felt almost like she and Spike were living and breathing this fight, straining muscles to their delicious limits and hitting the dance steps right on time. (So, maybe there was dancing; it just wasn’t exactly merry or green.) The werewolves were only the background dancers who always forgot their way through the movements. 

One by one the werewolves fell, transforming into the humans that they were as their bodies hit the ground. Not one of them was dead.

Buffy and Spike ended up next to one another – both panting, having lost their weapons, and facing the demon who now sat at the judge’s bench with her booted feet on the table. Oz was standing next to her like a bailiff in a werewolf costume. Buffy had lost the tranquilizer gun somewhere in the fight, but she still had the bag of cartridges on her hip.

Still spinning her gavel, the demon smiled at them. “Wow. Didn’t expect that one. You’re good.”

Buffy managed to control her breathing enough to ask, “Why?”

“Why what?” 

“I mean, what’s the point of all of this?” Buffy gestured at the fallen werewolves. “The wolves. The town. All the dead people.”

The demon grinned and sat up, leaning forward on the desk. “Why else does anyone do anything in a West Texas farming town?” She paused for effect. “Boredom.”

“Boredom?” Spike asked incredulously, squinting his eyes like she was crazy. 

“Of course.” 

Anger flaring, Buffy crossed her arms. “So all this. Drawing werewolves here by promising them what?” All Buffy knew was that Oz and the others had come here willingly. “Something that will bring them peace? Controlling them once they got here even without it being a full moon. Having them kill everyone in the town. Having them kill the people they love. You did all that because you were bored?”

“Uh huh. Cow tipping and joyriding in hotwired cars? They just weren’t fun anymore. And I’ve always been fascinated by the coyotes around here. So, I did some research and found werewolves. So voila! Werewolves. They seem to have frightened the coyotes off.” The demon was being far too perky. “Plus, it’s lonely being the only demon-type in town and having to constantly be incognito.” 

“Couldn’t you have just moved if you were bored?” Buffy asked. “Bigger cities have larger populations of demons.”

The demon scoffed. “Lubbock doesn’t have a large population of demons. It’s a college town. And a bunch of conservative, religious folk. Not demon types.” She tilted her head, considering. “Though I wouldn’t be surprised.” 

Buffy considered that maybe Lubbock might have something hellmouth-y to it; after all, Sunnydale did have an awful lot of churches. She made a mental note to ask Giles later.

“Or you could try a hellmouth,” Spike suggested as if reading Buffy’s mind. “The world is very big and definitely not boring.”

The demon shrugged one shoulder. “I kinda wanted to see what doing this would bring. And I never in a million years would have thought it would bring you two. You’re really really formidable. Like crazy strong and in sync with each other. You must be in love with each other or something.” Buffy didn’t know how the demon came to that conclusion. “And now, you’re going to die.” 

With that declaration, the demon hopped up onto the desk, tail flicking, and raised her gavel. An ancient language spilled past her lips in a deep, disembodied voice that was far from youthful perkiness. Buffy felt a charge through the air around her – something she rarely felt in response to magic. When she tried to move, she discovered that her legs were immobile, and a quick look at Spike revealed he couldn’t move either as he pushed against the sweeping magic force. 

In horror, Buffy realized that the men and women who’d been unconscious were rising up like werewolf zombies, sprouting fur and fangs once more. Their fur and claws crackling with magical electricity, they surrounded Buffy and Spike. 

“I don’t think so!” bellowed a familiar voice from behind them. 

Willow strode forward – her long red hair flowing back with the rushing wind that always came with powerful magic. With one hand raised, Willow cast a white forcefield that pushed back against the magically-enhanced werewolves, and with her other hand, she sent a lightning bolt of white energy to shatter the gavel in the demon’s hand. 

The demon threw her head back and laughed. “Now this is fun!” She lifted her hand, making a small gesture like sign language, and the gavel easily reappeared. With her face set with ferocious concentration, the demon threw out more magic, dissolving Willow’s spell at the edges and allowing the werewolves to advance. 

Willow stood still and concentrated but couldn’t seem to stop the slow destruction of her barrier, no doubt weakened by the magic she had done to save Xander. 

Buffy suddenly realized she could move. She scanned the ground and saw her scythe nearby. Without a second thought, she darted for the weapon, sliding on the ground to reach it, grasping the handle, and sending it arcing through the air past all the warring magic to sink into the demon’s throat. 

With a small whine, the demon crumpled to the ground, and the magic abruptly ceased. Willow collapsed as did all the werewolves, who oddly enough remained in wolf form. 

Up on the judge’s bench, Oz the werewolf stood, swaying slightly as if dazed. 

Buffy grabbed for the pouch of tranquilizers, her fingers fumbling for a cartridge. Finding one, she threw that as well, the drug finding its home in Oz’s chest with ease, and he too dropped. 

“Looks like we’re gonna need a lot of chains, pet,” Spike said from behind her. 

* * *

“So, here we are again.” Spike was silhouetted in the doorway of the bedroom in which Buffy had been trying and failing to sleep. 

All her exhausted muscles protesting, she sat up in the bed that wasn’t her bed, clutching the sheet to her chest. Not that she had anything to cover. She was wearing a large T-shirt she’d found in the latest abandoned house. Abandoned house, abandoned clothes, abandoned bed. Somewhere out there, their luggage was abandoned as well, due to having been thrust into a demon-fighting situation. Sometimes the lack of a stable place made her feel like she was dreaming – floating along on some journey that didn’t feel quite right. “Yes, but this time, Oz is safely chained in the basement. And his spell worked; Willow was able to prevent Xander from turning wolf-y in the future.” 

Oz was still asleep, and they weren’t quite sure what form he’d take when he woke. Willow had still been able to sense the demon’s magic lingering in his body. Xander was wiped out from his ordeal and was sleeping in the basement far from Oz’s reach should he wake up. Willow had also placed a temporary Sleeping Beauty spell on the rest of the living werewolves, who were healing nicely in their unconscious state. Spike, Buffy, and Willow had found chains in the main farming and ranch supply store in town, and all the wolves were secured in the courthouse. Needless to say, Willow had been completely drained and had curled up on a pallet just out of reach of Oz, so he’d see her when he woke but wouldn’t be able to attack her if he had the urge. 

“That wasn’t what I meant, pet.” 

Buffy still couldn’t see Spike’s face, but his tone was low and rumbly and sent her body into a tailspin of lusty betrayal. Damn it. She knew he probably knew. Again. His allusion to the abandoned house in Sunnydale made her feel vulnerable. Naked. So, she waited until she felt she could speak in an even tone. “Were you bored?” She hadn’t even thought of that as a reason for Spike’s sudden return into her life until the demon said she’d been bored.

“What?” He was surprised by her question. 

“Were you bored? Is that why you finally came to find me after you came back?” Some of the hurt she’d been hanging onto for months edged into the last few syllables. 

Spike took a step into the room, and she simultaneously wanted him closer and wanted to tell him to go to hell. Instead, she waited. “You know that Dawn was in danger, and I wanted to help.”

Her heart constricted in her chest. “That’s why?” 

“Yeah. I love Dawn. I’d do anything to protect her. Made a promise to you, didn’t I? ‘Til the end of the world.” 

Irritation washed over Buffy. He could say he loved her sister but couldn’t bring himself to be truthful about his feelings for her. Or maybe not saying anything said everything about how he really felt. “Well, now Dawn’s safely in school in England with Giles. So, you don’t need to hang around anymore.” At least her sister had an unchanging place to be. “You can go back to helping Angel with that big mess he made in L.A.” Sadness slipped over Buffy’s cheeks in the form of tears, and she was glad for the shadows, so Spike couldn’t see how hurt she was. 

Spike kept coming closer, and he sat on the edge of the bed, giving her space but invading it all the same. “Oh, love. Are you asking why I didn’t come sooner?” He was quiet for a long moment, and she could see his shoulders slumped against the vague light from the room down the hall. “I thought about coming to you every single day that I’ve been back.”

“Every day?” So, she let a little irony creep into her voice. 

“Every single sodding day. Every hour. Every minute.” He was serious. As serious as houses. 

“So, why didn’t you? I missed you. I grieved you.” Screw it. Now was her moment. She was all in. She took a deep, hesitating breath. “I-I loved you every single day you weren’t there.” 

“You did?” He sounded stunned. Why did he still sound stunned that she had feelings for him? 

She found herself reassuring him even though her heart was pounding ninety miles an hour in her chest – her vulnerability making her want to flee the room, flee the house, flee the town. But if she did that, she would never know if there was a chance. “I did.” She stopped herself short of saying that she didn’t mean it in the past tense.

He ran a hand over his face. “Oh god, pet. I’ve bollixed everything up.” He sounded like he might cry. 

Buffy stubbornly wanted him to come to her, wanted him to apologize for hurting her and not loving her enough to come sooner. But she reached for him, climbing out from under the covers, crossing the remaining gulf between them, and wrapping her arms and legs around him from behind. She placed her cheek on his back and felt him tremble. “Life is too short. You can’t wait for the right moment or until you’re done baking. You’ll miss out on things. Important things.” Like loving me. Like letting me love you. “Don’t wait.” The last part sounded a little like pleading. She let out a gust of air and covered with humor. “God, I sound like a really bad after school special.”

Spike chuckled, and she loved the feeling of the rumble on her ear. “But you’re right.”

She held him tighter. “I’m scared.” 

“Scared of what, love?” He moved a little, loosening her grip and making her heart skip in her chest. “Hey. Come here.” He twisted a little and reached around for her, pulling her around to his front so that she was facing him, her legs going around his waist, her hands landing on his chest. 

Buffy touched her forehead to his cooler one and closed her eyes. “I’m scared that if we take this leap, we’ll just end up separated again. . . or dead.” 

Spike didn’t pull away or move. He just simply said, “Hmm. Going out on a bit of a limb here, but I’m thinking that death can’t keep us separated for long. Thought I was at peace. Or going to hell to pay my dues after my unlife of wrongs. Thought I’d done my duty as champion of closing the Sunnydale hellmouth, and yet, here I am.” 

This time Buffy was the one who laughed. “Okay, Mr. Wise Guy.” Then, she sobered as fear gripped her heart again. “What are you saying?”

He ran the fingers of one hand down her back, tracing her spine the way she knew he remembered that she liked it. “You didn’t let me finish, pet.”

“Oh. Go on,” she nudged, still holding her breath. 

“So here we are again,” Spike repeated. His nose bumped against hers as his lips parted. She ached with longing for him to kiss her. “We’re in an abandoned house in a hellmouth of one bored demon’s making. We’ve saved our friends. Saved the wolf and a bunch of his pack. And we’re both bloody exhausted. I still love you. Never stopped. Never will. Still don’t expect anything. Don’t even bloody know if I deserve it – ”

“Spike,” Buffy interrupted. “I love you, too. Just kiss me already.” Thank goodness she’d brushed her teeth free of storm dirt.

“You love me – ”

Buffy smiled and then brought her lips to Spike’s, moaning a little as the slip of his cool lips over her warmer ones sent goosebumps flying over her arms, and she shivered as he slowly moved with her, deepening the kiss and taking his time as he always did before when she let him. To her, the simple, easy caress of his tongue on hers and the tender affection with hints of more passion to come made her feel like she’d found her way to her own home. . . their home, and when he pulled back at last, she sighed with happiness. 

“Is this what it’s like?” he whispered. 

“What do you mean?” she asked, caressing his cheek. She traced all the familiar lines. Oh, she never wanted to stop touching him. 

“To love and be loved?” He sounded almost in awe. 

She kissed one cheek and then the other. “Oh. Yes. I believe so.” She ran a hand over the leather covering his shoulder. “Take this off. I need you to hold me.” She yawned – a good wide yawn, a yawn that meant she was now also emotionally exhausted and needed sleep. As Buffy helped him shed his duster, boots, and jeans, she stood before him and shifted her command to a question. Commands could come later when things were more solidly back on track in the physical department. “Would you. . . maybe want to hold me?” 

“Is that even a question, pet?” 

“It is. It’s an important one.” Permission was important. Desire on both their parts was important. She’d learned that lesson. He had, too.

He deposited a quick kiss on her lips. “All right then. Yes. I would love to hold you. I would love to sleep by your side and wake up next to you in the morning or whenever you wake up.” He hesitated. 

“And make love to me in the morning?” She had to ask. She wanted it more than she could say. She slid under the covers again, lifting them up for Spike to follow.

He respected her lead, and as he snuggled down next to her, her body fitting perfectly against his, he whispered into her hair, “I wasn’t bored, pet. I was scared, too.” 

Buffy was relieved to hear him say so if only because his admission made her feel less alone. It made up for him not answering her other question. She nuzzled her head down on his chest. “If we can tackle a band of werewolves without killing. . . well, with only killing a single one, we can handle anything.”

“I hardly think that’s a shining example of the hardest thing we’ve faced together.” This time, Spike yawned. 

“You’re right. But tired. We’ve been up for two days. Did I say tired? No more talking.” She stroked the side of his ribcage. 

He played with the ends of her hair for a moment. “I love you, Buffy.”

“I love you, too.” 

* * * 

The next morning, Buffy woke feeling more refreshed than she’d felt in a long time. She’d finally confessed her feelings to the vampire still sleeping next to her, and he’d admitted that he’d screwed up by not telling her that he was alive as soon as he came back in L.A. As she not-so-surreptitiously stretched her arms, she hoped that Willow, Oz, and Xander were still asleep in the basement after the werewolf fiasco because now, more than anything, Buffy wanted to make love to Spike.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve really been wanting to write a Spuffy story set in West Texas where I went to grad school! So, this seemed like the perfect time!
> 
> Buddy Holly is from Lubbock. :o)
> 
> Oz and Oz…I couldn’t resist.  
> When I worked at the juvenile justice center in Lubbock, more than one kiddo broke the law and got arrested because he or she was bored in one of the ultra-small farming towns surrounding Lubbock. So, I wanted the demon stuck in a farming town outside of Lubbock to also be bored out of her mind, so she had to stir up some trouble. She was fascinated by the coyotes, did a web search, and voila, werewolves. 
> 
> The dust storms are mighty. I used to have to close my eyes and walk to my car, crossing streets and hoping to not get run over. I wore gas permeable lenses, which warped with the wind and scratched my corneas. It definitely gets in your teeth and nose. They’re that fierce. And if you happen to be out when it’s raining, too…it rains mud. After many of the dust storms, my kitty used to love to roll in the red dirt on the balcony at my apartment, so her white fur would be red, and I’d have to give her a bath, so she wouldn’t swallow it all up. The dust storms are one of many fun and exciting nature events in Lubbock (plagues of bugs – grasshoppers and black beetles in various years, flooding streets and dead rats, snow/80 degree weather/rain/dust storms all in one week sometimes), which also has the most beautiful sunrises and sunsets I’ve ever seen. 
> 
> Also, the title? I googled “idle hands,” and it just so happens to be a movie with Seth Green with monsters. It was too serendipitous to pass up.


End file.
